


Coming Home

by olivemartini



Series: the heavy hearts we hold together [20]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 11:34:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11622690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olivemartini/pseuds/olivemartini
Summary: There's a crazy woman in her kitchen.Two, if you count Spencer's mother.





	Coming Home

She's used to bad things happening.

Beatrice is actually sort of an expert on it, but she usually sees it from behind a computer screen, so its sort of a change to have it happen in her own kitchen.  But that's what happening, with Diana's nurse being held out gun point by some strange woman that she might have passed in the hallway once or twice, maybe even held the door for her and exchanged comments about the weather.  "Who are you?"  The woman cocks her head to one side, like this is something interesting that she hadn't seen coming but really doesn't mind.  Beatrice can tell that she's sober, but she also thinks like she's getting high just on this, on the adrenaline rush of it all. 

"I'm Beatrice Palmer."  She doesn't think of lying.  She's not quick enough to think of a lie. 

"And why are you here?"  Cassie is making some sort of noise that's a cross between a sob and a gasp, but she doesn't have the breath to, thanks to this woman's arm pressing into her neck.  "I wasn't expecting anyone else."

"I'm Spencer's girlfriend."  Sort of.  And some other stuff.  But that's not important, even though she's nervous enough that she has the vague urge to say it anyways.

"Girlfriend?  Does he love you?  I had a girlfriend I loved once, and he took her away."  The gun moves from Cassie's head to Beatrice's in the space of a second, safety flicking off.  The woman has one eye squinted, like she's trying to figure out where she wants to shoot, playing out the scenarios in her head for the one that gives her the most pain and shock and fear.  "Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you and do the same thing to him."

Beatrice says the first thing that comes to mind, because after spending so long with these words weighing down her tongue until she couldn't speak, all she wants to say is the truth.  "I'm pregnant."

The safety goes back on and the woman stares.  

"Huh,"  She says, like this is the strangest part of the day so far, and then proceeds to lock Beatrice in the bathroom.

 

 

The woman comes back later, with a pregnancy test in her hands and Cassie no where in sight.  And when Beatrice takes the test and it comes up positive, the woman lets out a sigh and leans against the bathroom counter, squinting down at where she's huddled in one corner of the bathroom like a feral cat ready to fight.  "Relax,"  She says, offering a cigarette to her and then shrugging when Beatrice declines.  "I'm not going to hurt someone who's having a baby."

Beatrice nods, wonders if she should say thank you.  "What are you going to do with me?"

The woman shrugs, then looks around the bathroom with little interest.  "Keep you in here, I guess.  There's water here."  She sighs again, heavy, and she looks young and lonely.  Beatrice wonders if this is what love does to everyone, just breaks them down and then builds them back into something different, for better or worse. Worse, in this case.  "Better get comfortable.  I'm going to be here for a while."

Beatrice nods and relaxes, stretching out her legs as the stranger turns to leave.  Not that there's anything relaxing about this, but she can only handle so much before compartmentalizing it.  "What's your name?"

The woman smiles for the first time that day.  "Call me Jane."

 

 

Jane comes to talk to her a lot.  

She tells her about the girl she loved, never naming her, little things like her favorite food and they're favorite dates.  "We were free, you know?  Out in the world together, doing whatever we wanted and no one could stop us.  It felt like flying."

"You were killing people."  Beatrice had spent the first few days in silence, and then moved on to saying things that were neutral and didn't mean anything.  Now she's pretty sure Jane won't hurt her, so she talks like normal, even if they aren't normal conversations.  They're friends now, in a way.  "I wouldn't call that love."

"I don't expect you to get it.  About why it's good, to feel like nothing's holding you down." She looks in the mirror like she's seeing something different than she really is, a shadow of something from years past, when they were both a little more innocent.  "To know what it means to be the one who decides."

Jane had told Beatrice how she came to be this way.  About the man her father was, and how she had met this girl once, and had an amazing year with her.  How she was her first love, and they loved each other in the way that you only can when its your first- with everything, like she's your reason to breathe, like it burns you up and melts you down and reshapes you so you think fit together perfectly.  And how one stupid man  _took_ that from her, ripped away that feeling and replaced it with something awful, and how she had hunted him down.  But she couldn't do it, so her father did, after she begged and pleaded and cried for him to make it alright again.  And she'd been chasing that high ever sense, the peace that comes from killing your demons.

"No,"  Beatrice says.  "But sometimes I wish I could."

 

 

Jane's sitting on the counter, swinging her legs and letting her feet bump back against the cabinets, leaning her head out the window to let out a stream of cigarette smoke, because  _even second hand smoke can be bad for a baby, Beatrice, so we'll compromise._ Beatrice was in the bathtub, like always.

"Any idea what you're going to name it yet?"  they do this a lot, surprisingly.  Jane likes to come in and speculate about things, about the theme for the baby's nursery, about her first birthday, what it's favorite colors or foods or movies will be, if it'll like sports or art, if there will be others.  Beatrice doesn't think there's going to be a day when she can think of her child and not think of these strange, pleasant nights, where she plans out a happy ending for her child with an honest to God assassin.  

"Her."  Beatrice reminds her, and Jane smiles indulgently, knowing full well that even though Beatrice would take either one, she was partial to the idea of a little girl.  "And no.  I figured that's something me and Spencer need to figure out together, you know?"

Jane leaves.  She always does, when Spencer is brought up.

 

 

She still prays, every night, her knees on the tile floor and her elbows resting on the side of the bathtub.  She doesn't have her rosary with her, but she imagines that her fingers are still tracing the beads, that this is normal and these are normal prayers.  

"Why do you do that?"  Jane asks, having caught her a third time. She sounds honestly curious, so Beatrice finishes and eases her way to her feet, perching on the edge of the bath tub.

"Pray?  I just always have.  It's nice to talk to someone who cares, I guess."  Beatrice wasn't prepared for a discussion about her faith.  She never seems to be, always stumbling over her feelings and beliefs and explanations, but Jane doesn't seem interested in telling her what to believe in.

Or being converted, which was unfortunate, because it would probably get Beatrice out of this mess.

"What do you pray for?"

"My parents.  My sister.  The team.  Spencer, my baby.  It's a long list, and I've got plenty of time to pray in here."  She meets her eyes.   "I pray for you, sometimes, and those two girls you loved."

Jane's eyes harden, but there's something else in there that looks a little like regret.  "You shouldn't."

 

 

"I'm leaving."  Jane stood in the doorway, a gun in her hands and a bag slung over her shoulder.  "Someone should be around to let you out in a little bit, I'd imagine."

"Where are you going?"  Jane doesn't answer.  She doesn't lie, but she won't give away information, either, which is how Beatrice knows it has something to do with Spencer.  "Are you going to hurt him?"

Jane doesn't want to say anything, she could tell.  Beatrice was an unexpected part of the equation, something that was apparently making it harder to carry out her job.  "Please,"  Beatrice adds, trying to put the weight of these past two weeks into that one word.  "Don't make me wait here not knowing."

"We're going to kill him."  Jane shrugs the bag further up her shoulder.  "Or if not that, we'll make him wish he was dead."

 

 

It's the new guy he finds her, pulling her out of the bath tub and into his arms.  She's tired and hungry and a little too upset to answer any of their questions, but she does, terrified every time one of them turns to her in case they bring bad news.  

"He's safe,"  JJ assures her, but he's not safe as long as he's still in that jail.  JJ seems to have made herself a guard dog, always beside her and behind her and right in front of her, snarling at anyone who might come close.

"She wasn't bad, the woman."  Beatrice thinks that if anyone is going to get it, it's JJ, who's seen a lot of not bad people do very bad things.  No one's taking her very seriously, too worried about the last time she ate or slept of any possible injuries, loading her up into an ambulance to take off to the hospital, even though she's fine, really.  The only injuries are the bruises on her arms from pounding on the bathroom door, hoping she'd magically break through.

"It's all going to be fine,"  Luke assures her, climbing up beside her into the ambulance and closing the door.  "We'll get her."

Part of her thinks that Jane doesn't need to be found. 

Part of her hopes that she can just stay free.


End file.
